Keep My Commandments
by UtterlyDisappoint
Summary: Without warning, Teru Mikami's life is suddenly granted a purpose. Wrapped around that purpose is the body of a man. Light/Mikami. Eventual plot deviation after ch. 88 or something? /discontinued/
1. Denizen

(A/N) Today I will write something that isn't Zaku. Today I will write about characters that no one has cared about for years. Today I will write about Mikami, the lovely little freak. I hope this story can live up to my others- I'll try my hardest! ヽ(゜∇゜)ノ

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It was a Tuesday, the day he received a package from God. Ever since he read about Kira's judgment of Earth in the newspaper, he had longed for a confirmation of his suspicions about his value. Teru Mikami, the tall, stoic pillar of righteousness, piety, and devotion, ached for the recognition of the only being he respected more than he did himself— God. He was already aware of his gift and his mission. The former was an astute ability to judge the humans with which he came into contact. Good and evil, pious souls and heathens were as clearly separate as night and day to Teru Mikami. Stains of black upon the pure white masses were as easy to extract as a rotten cherry from a live stem. The latter truth of which Mikami was aware was the fact that he and only he was fit to cleanse the world of these dark blots—to eliminate criminals and evil men from the world. That was why, when Mikami received a package in the mail without a return address a week and two days after he completed the questionnaire from _Kira's Kingdom_, he finally felt as if he might be put to use in the fashion for which he was destined. He had already made eye bargain with the shinigami. Half his life was a small price to pay if it meant he could be of further assistance to God.

He slipped his glasses from his face and found that his eyesight was sharper than it had ever been. He stared through his television screen, into the face of the man who brought shame to Kira's immaculacy. It was with relish that he wrote his first name in the thin, black notebook.

_HITOSHI DEMEGAWA_

With the last flick of his pen Mikami hissed out a prayer to Kira— "_sakujo." Eliminate. _His chest strained in a way that it hadn't in so long when _Kira's Kingdom_ was interrupted by the thud of the fat man's body hitting the floor off screen. The set dissolved into chaos, and Teru Mikami smiled like he never had before. At long last, God had found His rightful disciple. Without another word, Teru Mikami fell to the task of eliminating evildoers. He did so calmly, efficiently, and allowing no outward sign of the violent glee that surged through his blood, strengthening with every pounding beat of his heart.

He would have rather waited for a sign from Kira, and had asked for one during a broadcast of _Kira's Kingdom_, but after the notebook and initial instructions God had sent him nothing. Mikami decided, with trepidation, that if he did not receive direction within a certain number of days he would take matters into his own hands. Kiyomi Takada was the supposed spokeswoman of Kira's message, so one night he threw caution to the wind and called her in the hopes of relaying a message to God. Imagine his surprise when he found himself on the phone with Kira Himself—speaking to him, the mere mortal Teru Mikami, from a hotel within the boundaries of the same city. His voice, oh, His _voice_. Even marred by phone lines and static and breath, it pierced Mikami right to the core. He sounded younger, more alive, but despite that the tone was low and arresting. Clutching the telephone and fighting to remain calm, Mikami conferred with God and received his orders.

The following week found Teru Mikami consumed in the new and all-important task of bringing criminals to justice. He made it the first thing he did in the morning and the last thing he did before he went to sleep every night, and sometimes he became so engrossed in his task that he would neglect the rest of his routine. He had spoken to Kira on a Wednesday. On Thursday, he was so busy writing that he didn't have time for his daily trip to the gym. The Saturday after that, he skipped dinner because he was too eager to begin that night's work. However, no matter what it made him miss, using his power to cut the cancer from society put Mikami at ease. That was the happiest he had been in months. In years. In all his life. Performing God's work made him feel closer to the voice he'd heard on the phone that night. The distinctive voice that still fluttered around his head like a guardian angel. Writing in the Death Note before he began his day would put Teru Mikami in such a wonderful mood that nothing that happened that day could possibly annoy him. The nights, however, were different.

After he finished his sheet of names for the evening, Mikami would gently close the notebook, place it lovingly in his desk's bottom drawer, undress, and slide between the crisp covers of his bed. There, lying in the smooth darkness while his body warmed the sheets beneath him, God's voice would pound deafeningly inside his head. It would repeat their phone conversation, but after a few days it began to say other things.

_Teru Mikami._

"Yes, Almighty!" Mikami's voice was but a reedy squeak compared to the boom of his God's, even when he sat up in bed, thrust his arms into the air, and yelled.

_You are my disciple. My right hand. Your duty to me is worth more than your life._

"I am honored, God- I will serve you until I die!"

_You are the only man in the world who is worthy of my attention._

"God!"

_You are the only man I will ever love._

"_**God-!**_"

And Mikami would lie on his back, covers and hair a mess around his heaving body, and bask in the echoes of Kira's voice fading, fading away into sleep.

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Next chapter in a few days, hopefully! It'll be longer and saxier than this one- I just felt like I had to lay down some foundations first, y'know? But yeah next chapter will defer from the story because gay stuff. c:


	2. Disciple

Two weeks and half a day following Teru Mikami's exchange with God, his cell phone rang. He dropped his chopsticks- he'd been in the middle of dinner- and rushed to retrieve the phone. It could've been from Kira, after all. Mikami did not typically receive a large volume of calls at that hour. Most of his clients called during his office hours, and he had no close family to speak of. When Mikami glanced at the screen and saw that the caller's phone number was blocked his heart leaped to his throat— who else but Kami?

"Hello?"

"Mr. Mikami?" the static-coated voice of Mr. Watanabe, a rather nervous client who Mikami was to represent in court the following week, effectively deflated his excitement in a matter of milliseconds. "Did you ever get that evidence report from the police? How's the case looking to you?"

Teru Mikami, already considered a prodigal prosecutor, could hardly remember what the case was about. Petty theft—or was it grand theft? He was so absorbed in his mission from God that he had severely neglected the outside work that needed to be completed for his job. In fact, so worried was he that God would call on him and be sent to voicemail because Mr. Watanabe couldn't restrain himself, that he ended the conversation long before it would have been polite to do so. After it was over Mikami sat there, phone clutched in a slightly damp palm, too riled to think about finishing his dinner. He could scarcely bring himself to care anymore. What was the monotony of work, the chore of eating, or bathing, or exercising, when there was justice to be served? Every minute of the day, Mikami longed for the ecstasy of killing the evil. He sat down at the table again, adjusting his glasses and running a napkin across the tips of his chopsticks where they had fallen into the food. He ate again, because he was obligated to keep himself healthy and alert, but he could hardly taste whatever he was chewing.

When the phone rang a second time, twenty-two minutes later, Mikami nearly let it go to voicemail. However, when he glanced at the screen, an actual phone number was displayed. Kiyomi Takada's. He snatched up the phone and pressed it hard to his ear, preparing for another exchange with Kira.

"God?"

Sure enough, that rich voice filled his ear once more. "Mikami, listen carefully. Are you alone?"

"Yes," Mikami answered back in as businesslike a voice as he could muster. He pressed a hand to his chest as if that might hush his choking heartbeat.

"I want you to come to the Imperial Hotel tomorrow evening at ten o'clock. Room 345. Bring your Note. Do you understand?"

"Yes-…" his breath hitched as he added quietly; "will you be there, God?"

"Yes. I want to talk about our next move." And the line went dead.

He clutched the phone hard and lifted it above him, fingers inadvertently pressing keys as they trembled, and breathed deeply to regain his composure. The voice was deafening in his head in bed that night. For the first time he also saw things. Not a face, but a pair of eyes of piercing red and a flawless hand, reaching down to bless him with life.

Mikami was beside himself that night and the next morning. He couldn't make himself concentrate on anything—the only task he truly put his mind to that day was getting dressed and making himself look presentable for God. He would, of course, refuse to call it "primping," but in the end that was all it was. He stood in front of the medicine cabinet mirror for over an hour trying different ties with his best suit, checking his teeth again and again for scraps of food, pushing his thick hair this way and that, wanting nothing more to impress Kira. Eventually he chose a particular red tie, which as soon as his eyes set upon it had reminded him of the red eyes from the night before. He looped it around his neck, flattened his collar, and smoothed down his coat. In the mirror, Mikami broke his austere expression to crack a smile.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Kira," he said, still smiling. No, that felt too forward. God needed to be treated with the utmost respect and solemnity. Mikami dropped the smile.

"It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Kira." This time he lowered his voice, bowed his head slightly, and did not meet his own eyes as they stared back at him from the mirror. He felt unusually stuffy beneath his layers of clothing.

Ten o'clock was still two hours away when Mikami left his house. The Imperial Hotel was far away, and the slim chance that some anomaly would cause him to be late was terrifying enough to force the prosecutor to allow himself a ridiculously long window of travel time. Needless to say, the trip went on without a hitch and left him with nearly half an hour left. Mikami took a seat on a bench in front of the large hotel and stared upward, into its hundreds of tinted windows, wondering if God was behind one of them. It was not until just then that he recognized the monotony of what his life had been for the past few years. None of his dreams of a perfect world seemed entirely recognizable, even to him, before Kira chose him. Perhaps today would change that, forever. His excitement helped the time slip by a little faster.

The seconds following Mikami's knock on God's door were the longest of his life. When it opened and he entered, the room was bleeding with shadows and the face of his God was hidden. The first things he noticed were God's shoes—simple, dusty black, and of a recognizably common brand. His pants were black as well, and the tails of His shirt were white and untucked.

"Prove to me that you're who you should be." The voice was even more overwhelming in person than over the phone. Mikami was so wrapped up in it that his answer was delayed by about ten seconds.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lord Kira. I am Teru Mikami," said he, as outwardly composed as he always was in court. "I've already made the eye deal with Ryuk. I have the Death Note here." He pulled the jet black notebook from his briefcase.

"Light Yagami," said God. Light; such a fitting name for a God such as Him. He truly was divine, despite His appearance.

Satisfied, Light walked forward to reveal His face. He was young—so much younger than Mikami had predicted! If not for a forceful, violently serious pair of brown eyes, He looked like an average college boy. He held out His hand and said "nice to meet you" like any normal human might, looking up expectantly. Mikami was at a loss—did God truly think him worthy enough of such an equalizing gesture? Bowing his head, he reached forward and grasped God's four fingers in a gentle grip, pulling His hand forward and kissing just above the middle knuckle. There was a jerk of God's arm, as if His first instinct told Him to yank back His hand, but He didn't go through with it. He couldn't be too sure, but Mikami could swear that he heard a small chuckle from above him. Afterward he straightened up, noticing for the first time the difference in their heights, and walked over to the chair toward which God gestured. They discussed how long Mikami would remain Kira's proxy. God gave him advice about creating a few days' reserve of criminals, about concealing pages of the Note, and about staying under the radar. All the while, Mikami watched the man opposite him. The way His lips formed words, the darting of His piercing eyes, and the auburn hair that draped over His forehead all seemed quite ordinary, but at the same time otherworldly. Mikami could still feel the spirit of God's skin on his mouth. The conversation finished entirely too quickly, and left Mikami unsure that he had truly been able to exhibit his intellect and devotion in such a short interlude. As God stood and walked toward the door, he began to panic. He rushed to His side and stood in front of the door, breathing deeply through his mouth. He hardly knew what else he wanted, simply that their exchange couldn't end there. It wasn't long enough, or intimate enough. Mikami wanted to truly know Him.

"Whatever you want from me, God," he breathed. "Anything."

Mikami had not expected what happened after that—how God interpreted his words was a complete surprise. Or perhaps he'd known exactly what he was implying, and hoped that God would do what He ended up doing. Either way, when God slammed one hand against Mikami's throat, pinning him to the door, and thrust their mouths together, the obedient disciple did not complain. He could not, however, bring himself to respond. It was not his place, as tortuous as it was to restrain himself from touching such a perfect being. So Teru Mikami stood with his back against the door, pulling air with difficulty under God's left hand at his neck, aware of His right hand combing and tugging at his hair, opening his mouth wider to accommodate God's tongue. Evidently God noticed Mikami's stillness, snagging His fingers hard in the older man's black hair and pulling his head away from the wall in an effort to make him respond.

"Tell… tell me what you want, Almighty," Mikami whispered between God's kisses.

"_Kiss me back_, _you fucking idiot_," God hissed with a particularly savage yank of His disciple's hair. Mikami had little difficulty obliging Him.

As two hands twisted fistfuls of his hair, Mikami cautiously placed his own hands against God's body—one on His stomach and one at His shirt collar. Their mouths melded together messily, teeth knocking against one another, tongues twining, small sighs and hums filling the room. Mikami slid his hand over God's hip to splay across His back, relishing the warmth of His skin beneath the cool fabric of His shirt. Mikami pulled lightly on God's back and their bodies pressed together, and he felt a stiff something against his thigh, just as God likely felt against His stomach. All at once Mikami was overwhelmed with shame—how could he allow God to debase Himself so horribly, and why would lowly Teru Mikami ever think himself worthy of such intimacy? He broke their kiss with a small moan. He was nothing but a human man, a fact made blatantly obvious by the lewd tenting of his slacks.

"I a-apologize… I-" Mikami began, but God cut him off.

"No, you're right. Wait fifteen minutes, and then leave the room. Leave the hotel through the back door and take a detour home in case either of us were tailed. Keep your cell phone on."

And He was through the door and gone in the space of a few seconds. Mikami stood in the open doorway, looking through foggy glasses, seeing nothing, hearing God's voice tearing though his brain. _Keep your cell phone on._

_._

(A/N) I'll have quite a lot of free time over these next few days so next chapter will happen soon. Bear with me, folks, aaaaaaaauuugh!


	3. Missionary

(A/N) Jesus Christ, it's so hard to remember to capitalize He all the time! Also I'm trying pathetically hard not to rush this like I have my other stories. :/ Hopefully this'll tide you all over for a while. _Fandom Secret: wow aside from the stupid "He"s that was so super fun to write holy shit._

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Teru Mikami believed that patience was a virtue. He prided himself on his ability to check his emotions, settle himself down, and wait for his situation to improve. How else would he have survived primary school with so few friends? Had he not promised himself every day that his ideal world would come to be if he were simply to wait a few years longer, he would have gone insane. Patience and constant determination—those were the two qualities that Mikami was certain he had mastered. However, he spent the day following his unorthodox meeting with God agonizing over which of these qualities to implement.

On one hand, Mikami knew that it would never be his place to make the first move to further their relationship. Waiting, biding his time, and following God's orders to the letter were surely the best way to win His favor. On the other hand, how long would it be if he did not take action? Only by asserting himself did Mikami make it as far as he had. Both choices seemed simultaneously perfect and disastrous. So paralyzed was he by this impossible choice that, for days on end, he wasn't able to make a move and therefore went with patience by default. (Although, to be fair, Mikami felt nowhere near patient.) Only judging criminals could distract him, for only then did Mikami truly feel that his time was being spent toward something useful. The rest of his routine became so dull he could've done it in his sleep. Each ring of his phone, which he kept on full volume and by his side every second of the day and night, nearly gave him a heart attack. Two Thursdays after the encounter, the screen flashed Takada's number again.

Mikami could scarcely choke "God?" into the receiver. It had been at least 48 hours since he had last used his voice.

"No, no—it's Kiyomi Takada," answered a cool female voice. "I'm supposed to tell you to stick closer to Light's orders." Here, her tone turned snide. "_Apparently_ you're being too liberal with who you're writing down."

Mikami resisted the urge to tell her something else she could stick somewhere, thanked her, and hung up the phone. Never mind snooty Takada, was God trying to tell him that his judgment of these despicable people had been poor? Had he failed in more ways than one? This worried Mikami to no end and, more desperate now than ever for another meeting with God, he took to keeping his phone clutched in his fist no matter where he went. He also made no change in the way in which he killed, feigning a misunderstanding of the request, secretly hoping that God would feel the need to explain in person. God's voice in his ear at night faded with every passing day, until one night all it could whisper was his name, over and over, with an air of quiet disappointment. It took another six days for the phone to ring again, but this time when Mikami answered he heard the real voice, as strong and clear as ever.

"Same room, eleven o'clock."

"As you wish," the disciple would meet his God once again. "And Almighty, I-" The receiver on the other end of the line clicked down before Mikami could express his gratitude. The wait for the end of the day was as lengthy as ever.

This time, when the hotel room's door swung open, Mikami did not hesitate in the foyer. He walked smartly forward, leaned over, and kissed God's silky hand with as much determination as a firm handshake. Even the second time around God seemed perturbed by the gesture. Brown hair window-lit and shining, He took a seat and motioned for Mikami to follow. Once again they discussed strategy. Mikami listened and understood, but his eyes did not focus respectfully on God's but instead wandered over His entire body. His hands that wove as He explained, His knees that rested but a centimeter from Mikami's, His lips and His eyelashes and his hair and His ears. Divine beauty seeped from the skin of this God, hidden beneath the mask of a man. The conversation wore down to a nub of silence, and God stood and strode toward the door just as He had last time. This time, however, He stopped before He reached it. Mikami followed cautiously.

"Mikami." The prosecutor's last name sounded musical when He said it, even in such a conversational tone. It was different in person than alone in bed. "What're you going to do now?"

"I am going to go home and use what God has told me to judge sinners more perfectly," Mikami said evenly. He knew more than to hope for another kiss.

"Anything before that?" There was a laugh tucked inside His words.

"No, Almighty," Mikami said, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses where they had begun to slip from his nose. They had refused to stay in place ever since he had started bowing so frequently.

God paused for a long time. Finally, with more laughter edging into His voice, He said "you really see me as God, don't you?"

"You _are_ God. Of that I am positive."

A full chuckle, and a shake of His auburn head in the sparse light of the room. "Then you're supposed to ask me for something, aren't you? Isn't that what you do when you pray?"

"I'm not here to ask, I'm here to serve you, God, I-" Mikami was shushed by a finger against his lips. All of a sudden they were inches apart. The room felt much darker than it had at the beginning, even though the sky had been black the whole way through.

"What do you want, Mikami?" He hissed. "Just ask. You might be surprised."

Mikami answered, completely truthfully, "I want to touch you."

God laughed again, louder than ever. The sound of it tore through Mikami's lungs and stole away his breath. Without another word he was pushed to his knees. A rustle from above him sent God's shirt and tie fluttering down onto his head. Two ethereally warm hands encircled his wrists and placed them against either side of a slightly warmer torso. Teru Mikami shook the divine vestments from over his eyes to reveal his own filthily common hands cradling God's ribcage.

"Go on," sneered God, "touch me."

His skin was smooth as Mikami ran his hands over it—there was no excess fat, but He was not excessively fit either. The perfectly average body of a 20-something year-old. Mikami's fingers worked diligently over ribs and pectorals, lingering over sharp collarbones that he could barely reach from his kneeling position. It enthralled him, how a God could take on any shape He wanted, and why He had chosen this particular shape. When he whispered "_please permit me to stand_," God laughed once more and pulled him up by his hair. Now, with slow, deliberate breaths, Mikami lowered his head and touched his mouth to the skin to the right of God's trachea. When he became impatient with simply running his lips over the flawless skin he took to kissing, which got God up and chuckling again. The disciple pressed hard, ardent kisses down God's throat to His shoulder, then diagonally to His left nipple, at which point he opened his mouth and used his tongue to taste and feel the skin.

God twisted against that sensation, His mirth gone. He pulled Mikami up again and kissed him like He had before, roughly and while making full use of His tongue and teeth. Wrapping His arms around Mikami's neck, He pulled Himself upward to hang closer to an equal height. It seemed that He disliked being shorter than His minion, so during a pause in their kisses Mikami returned to his knees and concentrated on exploring the ticklish cavern of God's navel. To his surprise, God knelt down a few moments after. With a glint of His piercing eyes, He quickly unbuttoned Mikami's shirt and ripped his necktie from around his neck. Mikami barely had time to react before God bent His head and set His warm, sinewy mouth onto Mikami's neck. Light stings mingled with Mikami's pleasure as God brushed his hair from his shoulder, bit his neck, and sucked hard, forming a hickey that wouldn't fade for weeks. Similar marks were made on his chest and both of his arms and, after his pants were swiftly unbuttoned and the hem of his boxers yanked upward, on the skin of Mikami's inner thigh.

There they were, kneeling on the hardwood floor of the foyer, with God's mouth and slick tongue inches from Mikami's groin. His head whipped upward and they kissed again, open mouthed, with God teasingly nipping and retracting before Mikami could find the inside of His mouth again. God kept pressing forward, further and further until Mikami had to reach backward to steady himself- further still until he was on his back, long hair fanned out around his head, glasses askew. His hands gripped helplessly at God's shoulders as he fought to keep himself lucid and focused on pleasing God.

"I'm answering your prayers, Mikami," God whispered into his mouth. A moist hand encircled the prosecutor's right wrist and pulled it downward. "Aren't you gonna touch me?"

Mikami's fingers brushed against a stiff swell in what he could only assume were God's slacks. Swallowing hard, he shut his eyes and cupped his palm around it, massaging it softly. From somewhere above him he heard a moan. God's mouth was at his neck again as Mikami rubbed Him through His pants, kissing and licking, and Mikami used the nerve he gained from this encouragement to power through His belt buckle and zipper to free His cock to the open air. He wrapped his hand around God's warm cock, swallowed again, and began a gradually ascending pace of long, even strokes. One might think that simply servicing his God would not be enough for Teru Mikami but oh, how it was. God's fingers tangled in his hair, God's mouth scraped and sucked at his collarbone, and God's throat let forth the most wonderful sighs and groans, letting His admirer know that he was doing well. A few minutes of Mikami's fist slicking up and down His erection and God curled His head upward, clenched His iron-straight teeth, and came into the older man's palm. He sat there on His hands and knees above Mikami while His breathing slowed to normal, watching the man under Him stare lovingly into His glazed-over eyes. Mikami helped God up with his clean hand, handed Him His shirt and tie, and opened the door for Him as He left without another word.

He had been blessed, blessed as no other man had even been fortunate enough to be blessed before. Mikami would not finish himself off, even though his cock ached with heat and need from bringing God to His climax. He was reluctant at first to wash his hand, to dress, and to leave the hotel room, but the promise that, if he were patient, this might occur again kept him moving diligently forward. During the taxi ride home, he double checked to be sure that his cell phone was on and scratched at a pinprick of blood marring his pure white shirt collar.

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Guys please review this shit I have no idea if it sucks. The last two were so cryptic. ;_;


	4. Inquisitor

(A/N) You guys are the best, thank you for the support and kind words! ;u; I will marry every single one of you. So here's this. Featuring a bit of plot development that hopefully makes sense as well as ~~~other things~~~ as any respectable chapter should. I'm also really damn exhausted, hence all the tiredness motifs in here, pshhhh.

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The next few days were jumbled for Teru Mimaki. His casework had ramped up, there was a trial approaching, enough criminals with which to fill a daily page of the Note were becoming more difficult to come by, and messages to the public were to be drafted and sent to Takada nearly every day. As if that was not enough to put Kira's proxy under stress, the deeper bites and passion marks that God left behind had begun to sting—were they even supposed to? Mikami could not boast a high volume of experience in that area. In fact, aside from what he'd gathered in school, by way of research, and from cases, Teru Mikami had not had extensive experience with sex. He was still… _untouched_, as it were. Saving himself had not been a conscious effort on his part until Kira came to Earth, but once it became one he became twice as cold to his female coworkers. Every coworker. The thought of how inexperienced he must have seemed in God's eyes were enough to stress him all the more.

Soon after the second evening in the hotel, Mikami received an interesting set of orders through Takada. He was to send _her_ pages of the Death Note and, from then on, employ the use of a fake one himself. The true Note was to be hidden in a secure location. What could it mean? Had God found a reason to distrust him? No—He couldn't possibly, not after the devotion that Mikami had exhibited that night. And why Takada? Why would God think that she was fitter to kill than he was? Whatever His reasons, Mikami knew it was disrespectful to question God. He tore the necessary pages from the sacred notebook, addressed an envelope to Kiyomi Takada and drafted a quick fan letter as a decoy, and effectively prepared for the emigration of the very last pleasure his daily life could offer him. As he folded the Note's pages and slid them into the envelope for Takada, Mikami heard a gravelly chuckle from over his shoulder. There was Ryuk, the Shinigami to which the Death Note belonged, probably miffed at the destruction of his sacred tome.

"Givin' it up so soon?" snickered Ryuk.

"God has willed it to be so," replied Mikami shortly. He did not care for the Shinigami and hoped he'd fly back to wherever it was spooks like him went. Instead, he was simply laughed at again.

"Light's really got _you_ wrapped around his finger, huh?" Ryuk said, floating carelessly around the room. "I still don't understand why that kid's so damn popular. Humans 're so weird."

Mikami shrugged. He wondered dimly how much Ryuk saw of what happened between himself and God, but found that he couldn't bring himself to care. The hotel room was always much too dark to tell if the Shinigami was lurking in a corner or not, and even if he was, Ryuk generally seemed to refrain from giving others the edge by passing secrets around. Mikami returned to his writing, and by the time he looked up again, he was alone once more. Now, with only the monotony of copying names into an ordinary book to occupy him in the morning and evening, Teru Mikami fell stalwartly back into his routine like a wheel into a deep rut in the street. Although, monotony or not, God's voice permeated every action Mikami took. He spoke volumes of Mikami's devotion to Him during the man's exercise routine at the gym every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He hissed encouragement while Mikami sifted through case files, evidence reports, and claims at his office every day from eight o'clock to five-thirty. He shouted sermons while Mikami slept. Even if his life was dry, Mikami's head was full of purpose, triumph, and hope. Soon he would not be the only one to hear God's voice preaching the doctrines of the New World, and that thought alone was enough to cheer him.

The following Sunday the phone rang again—it was technically Monday, but only barely. The harsh tingling jarred Mikami awake, and not until he pushed his glasses blearily onto his face did he see that he was indeed receiving a call at two-thirty in the morning. Takada's number flashed forward, and he pressed the phone to his ear through his mussed hair.

"Come to the hotel," said God. "Don't turn any lights on when you're leaving the house and go out the back door or something. I'll explain when you get here."

Mikami dressed in the dark. He couldn't see what color his tie was, how his hair looked, or if the buttons in his shirt matched up evenly. Obviously, his location had been compromised somehow. Instead of starting his car, he walked ten minutes through roiling black streets to the nearest train station and used that to reach the hotel. When he exited the elevator on God's floor, he saw two people standing outside the door—God and Takada. Mikami watched with disapprobation as their faces met in a kiss and Takada's spindly fingers curled into the rich fabric of God's suit coat. He skulked around the end of the hallway until Takada passed him on her way to the elevator. Their eyes met, and she nodded with a certain miniscule smile of which she was particularly fond of using. The two had known each other previously, and up until that moment Teru Mikami had respected her intellect and valued her as an integral member of Kira's inquisition. Now, the blind jealousy in his head led him to lay all the blame upon her; _obviously_ she was stealing God's favor away for herself. It wasn't that God was dissatisfied with Mikami, He was simply distracted by her. With a clench of his jaw, Mikami proceeded to the door.

He lingered longer than usual on God's hand, pressing quick and tight kisses to each finger, determined to surprise God with the gesture as he'd been able to do in the past. God did not speak for a long stretch of time after Mikami stood up straight again, so he took it upon himself to make a move. Sliding his fingers around the back of God's neck, Mikami leaned close to Him and kissed in earnest from His ear to His collar. God stayed silent, still, and stared blankly at the door through which Mikami had entered. The disciple kissed his God's cheek for a few moments longer before he began to feel as if he'd done wrong somehow. He shuddered to think that this lack of a response had anything to do with Takada.

"God?" Mikami whispered into His hair. "Is everything alright?"

"The SPK are in Japan," God said to the door, glaring hard. "You're going to need to be doubly careful with the real Death Note. You remember your orders?"

"Yes, God, I am to continue writing names in the decoy notebook," Mikami replied flatly. Why hadn't God tried to explain what _Takada_ was doing? That was all Mikami could think about. He hadn't a clue who the SPK were. For the first time in weeks, Kira's master plan did not occupy the majority of his mind, although he did not reveal this for fear of displeasing God.

"And I want you to write a few names in public, so you'll be seen doing it."

"But why, Almighty?" Mikami couldn't help but ask. He had forgotten himself, but his purpose came rushing back when he heard God sigh in exasperation at his question. He backpedaled furiously. "No—it is wrong to question you. I apologize. Sincerely." Never again would he dispute God's wisdom, and never again would he allow himself the luxury of ugly emotions like jealousy. Mikami had not felt so icily ashamed since their first meeting.

"It's alright, it's alright." God shook His head and waved His hand halfheartedly. He looked exhausted, and instantly and acutely Mikami pitied Him for the enormous task He was undertaking. Ruling the world is not an easy feat, even for a God. He rushed to God's side again and took His arm in a gentle grasp.

"Come here, God, please rest."

And, without parting with his pinched expression, God allowed Himself to be led to the couch on the other side of the room. Mikami shook off his trench coat, sat, and guided God's head delicately onto his lap. It was warm, and carried a foreign weightiness to it. With a sigh of contentment, Mikami combed his fingers gently over God's scalp, through His hair, pressing here and there to try and relieve His stress. Eventually God closed His dark honey eyes and exhaled, the lines of tension melting from his brow. It made Mikami smile like nothing else, seeing God so relaxed and at ease. He bent forward, shushing quietly to keep God from opening His eyes again, and touched his lips lightly to each of His closed eyelids. A hand curling into the inky hair at the nape of his neck kept Mikami's face close to God's before he could sit up again. He took the hint and bore down his mouth cautiously upon God's, cradling His shoulders. They kissed for a few pregnant minutes, deeply and rhythmically, before God shifted into a sitting position. Without breaking their kiss, He slid onto Mikami's lap. Mikami shuddered hard as their clothed bodies moved roughly against one another, which only made God snicker into the kiss and grind His hips down harder. God's hands were in his hair again, scratching and pulling, and Mikami found himself engorged to the point of pain beneath His heavy hips.

Unwilling to ask Him to move, Mikami wrapped his hands around God's waist, hoisted Him up, and sat Him gently back onto the couch. The prosecutor knelt in front of His knees and slipped His belt open before He could question the rearrangement, so He simply laughed and sat back against the couch. Mikami quickly came to the realization that he knew nothing about how this sort of thing was administered as soon as his hand closed around God's cock and guided it in line with his lips. He gave the tip an experimental kiss, then a few cautious licks while pumping his hand up and down. Mikami knew only the bare bones of how one was supposed to go about doing this, so when God made a small noise above him he felt boiling confidence in his ability flow through him. One deep breath later Mikami had half of God's erection in his mouth, fighting his gag reflex, sliding his lips forward and backward and gripping the base firmly. He repeated and refined, systematically, every action he took that elicited a response from the perfect man above him—running his tongue up the underside of His cock, humming around it, swallowing it as deeply as he could. A few minutes in and God began to tremble. He pressed a hand against the back of Mikami's head, tangling His fingers in the dense black hair, and forced a faster pace. However, just as Mikami could feel God's muscles clenching, His cell phone went off in His pocket. God shoved Mikami's head away with a sigh of frustration and answered the phone. Mikami wondered idly who would be bothering Kira at nearly four in the morning. A frenzied voice was barely audible on the other side.

"Calm down, _calm the hell down, Misa!_" God snapped, rubbing His temples with His free hand. "I told you I'd be late tonight, weren't you listening?"

He repeated a few variations of that as a rebuttal to whatever this Misa woman was whining about, then said "fifteen minutes" and threw the phone down onto the couch. Mikami pushed himself up from his knees, suddenly feeling his weariness, and took a seat next to God on the sofa. He gave Him a quick look before ducking down to finish Him off, forcing His cock down further and with rapidity until God came into his mouth with a hiss and a final yank of His disciple's hair. God stood up, and his movement caused Mikami's coat to fall from where it had previously been hanging over the arm of the sofa. God looked down at it dispassionately, shrugged, and walked out of the room. Upon returning to his block, Teru Mikami noticed a black van across the street from his house that had been there since he finished work the day before.

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time to sleep forever skhfrhgerhg writing smut is tiring i'm dying augh

Okay guys I'm sorry, I have to take a brief hiatus. I've had the worst case of food poisoning the world has ever seen and now I'm going on a freaking road trip with two people who hate planning anything in advance! Hahahaha! You all have been so nice, thank you for the reviews, watches and favorites. I promise that I'll continue this, but I need a week or so to get organized and drive to the ends of the damn earth and back. (That'll hopefully give me more time to develop the plot of this monstrosity, though, so expect a well-developed, streamlined story when I return!) I love you all, please be patient with me.


	5. Cardinal

(A/N) Fuck yeah I'M BACK, GUYS! For those who care, the road trip was equal parts fun and disaster and I am overjoyed to be back home and writing this crap for you all instead of out there being an adult. Enjoy Mikami being _sssssooo_ pathetic and also actual smut because I've strung you along for long enough already.

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When Teru Mikami finally shed his suit and slipped into bed, it was nearly five in the morning and he was still inconveniently aroused. His exhaustion was not enough to erase what had happened in God's hotel room—he could still taste the evidence in the back of his throat. Sheepishly, ashamed despite his complete privacy, Mikami slid his hand beneath the waistband of his pajamas in the cool darkness of his bedroom. He made a brief effort to replace his hand with God's in his mind, but found that he could not conjure up the image. God did not seem to have the capacity to return any of the favors Mikami had offered Him over their past few visits, aside from kissing. Because of this he felt—as much as he hated using a word that would set him in a group usually reserved for jealous young women—_used_. Mikami was aware that thinking such things was heresy, but he was powerless to stop his mind from resenting God for lacking the decency to reciprocate his feelings and his actions. Thus Mikami did not think it his place to imagine God doing something He would never actually do. Doing so felt foolish and unrealistic, and did nothing to help him climax. Instead he simply wiped his mind blank and relied on friction alone to set his body at ease and allow him to sleep.

The next day, the van was still outside his house but parked a block away. Teru Mikami, however, made no effort to hide from whoever was tailing him. He went about his routine as always, and wrote in the decoy Note in public, whispering "sakujo" to nearly empty train cars and vacant park benches. Despite his churning emotions, he still followed God's instructions to the letter. God had chosen him, after all, even if it was for work alone. He was still devoted to God in every way, even if God did not feel the same, and every time he received orders from Him or through Takada, Mikami's heart still squirmed wonderfully. The days wore on at a frighteningly slow pace. With every passing hour Mikami's anger faded, replaced only with a driving desire to see God in person once again.

One of those long days, a Tuesday, Mikami did not go to bed at ten-thirty, his usual time. Something simply told him not to. It had been, as previously mentioned, a heinously long day—filled with busywork, slow clients, and long lines of sinners that wouldn't be harmed until someone besides Mikami wrote their names down. God's mission was absolute, but Mikami could not shake the feeling that his part in all of it was meaningless. Was he dead weight, or would this deception of his unnamed tail have an eventual purpose? The thought refused to let him rest, and so awake he stayed. He even retrieved a dusty bottle of gin from a shelf high above the stove in an effort to calm his racing mind. Nothing worked. It was past midnight when Mikami left the living room and sat heavily on his bed, too far past the point of caring to get up and change out of his work clothes. He sat there on the edge of his bed, staring unseeingly at the door to his bedroom. With all his heart he willed it to open- willed God to come breezing in and touch him and explain to him how much He needed him. Unsurprisingly, Teru Mikami remained alone in his room until he fell asleep.

Mikami repeated this new pattern of activity- staying awake, drinking, watching the door, and falling asleep in his work clothes- until it too became part of his regular routine. Each passing day took its toll on him, robbing his being of its previous sharpness. His work became haphazard. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed beneath his glasses. He still wrote names in the fake Note and kept a sleepy eye on his tail, but each day he was deprived of God's touch leeched a little more of his initial relish away from him. Every night of watching his bedroom door stay shut pulled the faithful disciple further from his God. At three minutes after midnight on the eighth day of his repose, Teru Mikami broke. It took only solitude, exhaustion, and a single swallow of stinging gin to bring him bruisingly to his knees at the foot of his bed.

"_Come back to me, Almighty,_" he whispered or shrieked or demanded, he could scarcely tell. Following this, two and a half minutes of a brand of silence strong enough to pinch his throat closed oozed through the room.

"_I am nothing without you to guide me_."

Mikami stood up when, once again, his devotion was rewarded with mere silence. Never once did he doubt that the man he worshiped was indeed God- the only thing he doubted was himself and his worth. He sat heavily at his post on the bed. His white shirt was rumpled and his tie was a tightly knotted noose around his aching neck. It was with quiet acceptance of himself as a pitiful sham of a disciple that Mikami allowed his eyes to slide to the door. And it swung slowly open. Mikami was up in a flash, crushing himself flat against the wall, knocking over the lamp on his bedside table in his blind surprise. His right hand groped over the bedside table looking for some sort of weapon, but stopped as soon as the intruder stepped into the fractured lamplight.

"God!" Mikami's underused voice scratched nauseatingly, like old vinyl.

There He stood, a finger to His lips, dressed as casually as Mikami had ever seen Him in dark jeans and a cardigan of a celestial shade of red. "Close the curtains," He whispered with a nonchalant flip of His hair.

"What are you doing here, this is not safe for-"

"_Shhh!"_ God shook His finger warningly against His lips, walked forward, and switched off Mikami's lamp with the toe of His tennis shoe. Mikami pulled the curtains across the only window in his room, and instantly was dipped in suffocating darkness, especially with the faint city light that usually bled in from outside blotted out. The only light in the room was the greenish glow emitted by the numbers on the digital alarm clock. Mikami stepped cautiously forward, sliding his toes along the smooth wood floor as a blind man would his cane. At once two hands pressed up against his chest, caressing him through his shirt. He felt a prickle of shame—had he known God was paying a visit he would have dressed more presentably. He would also have forgone the liquor that God could surely smell on his labored breaths. Mikami twitched when God's mouth touched his neck, and was unable to stop himself from stammering when His immaculate hand slid upward to pull at the knot in his necktie.

"G-God, no… no, please, st-! Stop-… de-debasing yourself," his face felt hot and sticky. Filthy. At once he was pathetically and misguidedly aroused in the face of God's proximity. The sensation spread across the entire expanse of his body when God's other hand closed determinedly around his clothed cock. "Please, puh-… pl-_ease… _stop, I do-, do-, I don't de_ser_ve you-!"

A warm body pressed itself against Mikami's, backing him into the wall once again. Two fists pulled at their favorite handfuls of his hair. Against him God's body shook with laughter, only a few strangled quips of it escaping, as if He were trying to hide it.

"De_basing_ myself!" He hissed through His laughter. "Mr. Mikami, you're too much, I just can't figure you out!"

Seeing this as a call for improvement, Mikami gripped God's shoulders and tried as best he could to see His eyes in the flat dark. "Wh-what can I do, Almighty? I want y-you to… to see me as I am," he pleaded. "I will do whatever you deem necessary to gain your trust."

"Then you'll do what I know you wanna do and make sure that nobody hears us," God whispered into Mikami's ear as his heart seized in his throat. "Stop apologizing and knock off all the formal shit. Let's go before it starts getting light." As He said this, He pushed His pelvis against Mikami's, pulling on His disciple's hair and standing on His toes in order to reach.

Mikami stood there in piercing disbelief. In that second he chose not to register exactly what God's words meant for him. All he allowed himself to deduce was that which God required of him. In that moment, however, he found he couldn't move, even though he could not deny the severity with which he desired to do God's bidding. He was terrified and he was frightfully inexperienced. God invalidated Mikami's worries by starting again Himself, teasingly kissing him and rubbing their bodies together. Still, Mikami's inhibitions were anything but gone- although found himself losing his composure and allowing his hands to move more freely about God's body. Off came His cardigan and the collared shirt beneath it, and soon Mikami's hands trembled against silkily warm skin. At that moment all Teru Mikami truly desired was to hold that sacred body to him. He did so, and felt His warmth radiating through his shirt. With a hand combing lovingly through the hair that slid down the back of God's head, Mikami stood there in rapture with his deity pressed against his heart.

"Mikami," God muttered.

"Yes," the taller man smiled widely as he sighed into God's hair, smoothing his cheek against the side of His head. "Yes, my God."

"I didn't come here to stand around and hug."

"Oh, of-of course, my apologies," Mikami whipped his hands back to his sides and took a step back. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and by the sparse light of the clock he could see God's face. It looked nearly spectral in the cold green light. "Can you see, God? Let me help you to the-… the bed."

God's fingers wrapped around his wrist and he led the way toward the same edge of the bed where he had spent so long waiting for this moment. As soon as Mikami's thigh brushed the edge of the mattress God's hands roughly struck his shoulders and sent him sprawling among the unmade sheets before he could catch his breath. A warm weight settled on his hips a few moments later, and with a jerk of his heart Mikami felt his slacks being unzipped and slid off of his legs. God's skin was completely bare against him. Where before he had allowed his eyelids to slide downward in the darkness, the sensation of a rather small, warm hand taking hold of his cock forced Mikami's eyes wide open. With the clock on the table behind Him now, all Mikami could see of God was a silhouette surrounded by a halo of hazy green. The silhouette became fuzzy and indistinct as the hand on Mikami's erection squeezed hard and began to move down. His mouth fell open and a cracked sort of keening escaped. He arched his neck as God's pace quickened, a delicious pressure building in his stomach- and all at once God took his hand away.

"God, oh, _God-_thank you," Mikami whimpered shrilly. He did not allow himself to ask for more. God had His reasons for stopping, he was sure, and it was selfish not to offer something in return for His blessing.

With one last sigh Mikami pushed the ache in his groin out of his mind and blindly stuck his hand forward, searching for God's skin in the shadow that perched upon him. His fingers grazed His hip bone, and from there Mikami was able to place both hands on God's hips and pull Him forward until His knees rested on either side of Mikami's neck. The disciple swallowed thickly, wrapped two fingers and a thumb around God's erection, and guided it down to his lips. He had to pull his head up from the bed in order for his mouth to reach the tip, which he circled timidly with his tongue. Just like last time, Mikami tried to repeat the actions that seemed to please God the most, though this time he kept his hand wrapped around and slowly moving up and down the base of God's cock. It was more difficult to keep it in his mouth because of their position- every time Mikami leaned forward too far his hair, which was caught beneath God's knee, pulled him back- but soon God's thighs were trembling and hisses and grunts could be heard from the darkness above. This time, however, God pushed Mikami's head down before He finished.

"Go find some lotion or something," God mumbled through long breaths.

Mikami wanted to ask why, but he did not want to embarrass himself. He pushed himself blindly up after God slid off of him. As he crept toward the bathroom in the crippling darkness he heard bedsheets rustling behind him, as well as the sound of fabric hitting the floor. Afraid to turn on the bathroom light, Mikami blundered through the drawers beneath the sink for nearly a minute before latching onto a small bottle of lotion he'd gotten at a hotel. As he felt his way back across the bedroom he was keenly aware of the air against his exposed skin- even though Mikami lived alone he always restricted his nakedness to inside the bathroom with the door locked. As soon as he slipped between the sheets God was upon him again, climbing back onto his lap, prying the bottle of lotion from his damp fingers, kissing him viciously. Their mouths were pressed so hard together that Mikami was scarcely able to react when God's hand, coated with what could only be the lotion, returned to his cock and pumped it a few times. The hand disappeared again and all Mikami could make out in the dark was God's face, inches from his, His lovely almond eyes glazed and His forehead creased with concentration or lust or something- Mikami wished he could tell if God was pleased with him or not.

God kissed him once more, this time more slowly, taking the time to build up from simple pecks to long, languid delves into His disciple's mouth with His tongue. "Come on," He breathed through His teeth, and with no more warning than that He rocked backward and pressed Mikami's cock inside Him. Mikami twisted beneath God as He fully impaled Himself. The older man could not stop his hands from skittering up to smooth over His skin when He let out a quiet whine and began to tremble again. Although He seemed to be in pain, God kept moving, grinding up and down, digging His fingernails into Mikami's hips as He picked up His pace.

"_God, ah, God, are- _aah_, are you alright?"_ Mikami's concern trumped his mounting pleasure, and through his gasps he sat up and caressed His neck and jaw.

God swatted his hand away and leaned heavily on his shoulders in order to push him back down onto the bed. "_Shut up,_" He whispered against Mikami's forehead. He continued to move, and Mikami was hit again with a wonderful, indescribable sensation- the friction, the delicious friction and the wet, tight heat dominated Mikami's senses. He writhed against the sheets, hands gripping God's thighs, and thrust upward to try and match His movements. It was torture, this captive sex, it wound Mikami impossibly tight and he loved every second. God's fingernails were ten crescents of stinging authority sunk into his skin. God's body, clenched around his cock and slamming up and down with ever-increasing speed, plastered him to the bed with pressure and ecstasy. God's mouth, sometimes spilling forth noise and sometimes leaving kisses and bites on his neck, held him prisoner. But suddenly something was off- through their steady movement and hard breaths came a faint tinkling that Mikami eventually recognized as God's cell phone. With a growl God halted His hips, took a few deep breaths, and reached down to where His pants lay to retrieve His phone. Mikami's cock was still buried up to the hilt inside Him as He put the phone to His ear.

"_Hhh_ello?" His voice was husky despite His best efforts.

A static-muddled voice on the other line.

"No, nnh-I was just sleeping. It is- _hh_two in the morning, after all."

The voice sounded apologetic, then urgent.

"Hhalright, I'll get to it _fff_irst thing tomorrow, Aizawa, until then nn- feel free to stay there and keep an eye on _M-_Misa."

When He finally hung up the room was bathed in sticky silence. God sat there, unmoving, breathing just as hard as He had before He'd answered. Once again imbued with concern, Mikami sat up and pressed a dozen soft kisses to His cheeks. Eventually He responded, lifting His hips again, kissing Mikami hard, and picking up the same speed at which they'd been going before. It did not take long for Mikami's mind to go blank again in their fog of thrusting and openmouthed kisses.

Now their bodies reached a pace reserved only for the home stretch- the frantic, choked rush of bucking and sliding and sweat- and Mikami squeezed his eyes shut as the arms of his glasses bit into his temples. His mouth was frozen open in its rapid breathing and moaning. God's face had contorted into an otherworldly mask of exertion. His neck and shoulders glistened with moisture and His teeth clenched between His parted lips. In their frenzy of thrusts God's hand found Mikami's and molded his fingers around His cock. The second Mikami began to touch Him His moans increased in volume, and in that second Mikami saw the true extent to which he could serve his God. That thought- never mind the sex- was what sent the disciple into the hardest orgasm he had ever experienced. Once again he called out to God, but could not discern whether he was whispering or screaming. The spasm wracked his frame for a brief interlude of what he imagined heaven would feel like. Of course God would've been the one to give him a taste of what was eventually to come. It took another round of hard thrusts and vigorous work on the part of Mikami's hand before God came as well, but not before He wound His fingers tightly in Mikami's hair one last time.

God climbed off of Mikami almost instantly after He came and walked quickly down the hall to the bathroom. He turned on the light, and for a brief second before He slammed the door Teru Mikami saw God's naked body; His mussed auburn hair and the red splotches on His skin from their sex, and the bones and muscles of a young man. Teru Mikami lay on his back amid the cooling sheets of his bed, his long hair sticking to his forehead. Upon noticing it he raised a hand to brush God's semen from where it had fallen on his stomach. He was determined to stay alert so he could welcome God back into bed and hold Him, but when He returned from the bathroom smelling of soap He simply gathered his clothes and slipped them on.

"God," Mikami said, his voice hoarse.

"_Shh!_" God cut him off. He realized that he had indeed spoken too loudly.

"God," Mikami tried again, much more softly. "Won't you stay?" He spread his arms and smiled as he never had in his life.

"Are you _stupid_?" God hissed, pulling His cardigan over His head and turning toward the door. "If I left here when it was light out the SPK would see me!"

Mikami felt suddenly ridiculous and pulled his arms back to his sides. God walked through the bedroom door and pulled it nearly shut. "Keep up the good work," He mumbled before shutting it completely.

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Oh wow that was really long hooooboy. Welp, maybe that'll make up for my inexcusable absence…? I hope I didn't lose any of you, and I hope those of you who stuck with me enjoyed it? I am a horrible judge of my own work and therefore cannot tell if any of this is anything outside of grammatically acceptable. (If I keep writing at 2 am even that'll go.)

Also ahaha upon reading the rest of this monstrosity again I realized that this is the second time Light's phone has prevented him from coming wow sorry dude. I just feel like it'd happen a lot in canon, I don't even know why? Not the coming part just the phone ringing all the damn time. Light's phone will henceforth be known as Colonel Cockblock. that is all. Happy 4 am to you too.

Wow this is a really long post script but whatever. Guess what: ANOTHER 10+ DAY HIATUS AHAHAHAHA SORRY GUYS! I promise this story will get done, just... not now?


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